deux

the accident

(b.y.)
once his hands returned to their normal state, and were no longer shaking in the presence of eddy, brett hurried to make the coffee, clumsily creating a small design in the cup with the cream. carrying the piping hot cup across the café to where eddy sat, brett noticed the sheet music strewn across the man's table. the sibelius violin concerto, he'd recognize it in a heartbeat. in fact, he had a rehearsal that night with the sydney symphony to prepare that exact piece. brett walked slowly, keeping his eyes trained on eddy, who was focused intently on the music in front of him, using his right forearm as a makeshift fingerboard. while the action may have looked strange to outsiders, brett resonated with it immediately.

finally, after watching eddy study the music, brett arrived at his table.

"eddy, right? here's your coffee." it was then, just as brett began to place the cup on the table, that a child rushed by, brushing brett's arm, causing him to spill the boiling coffee all over his hands, and consequently, the first four pages of the sibelius violin concerto in d minor.

time seemed to freeze, and in a panic brett frantically picked up the coffee cup, not noticing the bright red patches of skin on his hands, and the way they burned at contact with the cup's handle.

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry, oh my god, i'm so sorry. this is all my fault, are you okay?" brett asked the tall man, who had now backed away from the coffee-soaked table. his voice wavered with the panic that continued to course through his veins, and it certainly didn't help that he was in the presence of someone as intimidating as eddy.

"i'm fine," eddy said in a somewhat exasperated tone, "just a bit of coffee on my pants, that's all."

"and your music, too. i apologize, i should have been paying more attention. i'll be sure to clean this up and make you a new coffee, sir." brett responded, still ignorant of the burning skin on his hands, and quickly wiped up the spilt coffee on the table. in an instant, he was gone, and vanished behind the counter on the other side of the coffee shop.

(e.c)
with complete concentration on the score in front of him, eddy chen took little notice of how long it was taking for his coffee to get made. instead he focused on fingering the opening pages of the concerto he was performing that week with the sydney symphony, using his arm as an imaginary fingerboard.

he certainly didn't notice when a short man with a timid voice spilled boiling hot coffee across the table and his music, and he didn't even notice when a few drops of it fell onto his pants.

what he did notice, however, was the red tinted skin on the back of brett's small, slender hands, and the way his eyes lingered on the coffee-stained music, as if he had seen it before. as if he could recognize it; read it, even.